Limits and Boundaries
by Caelestis Amor
Summary: In the year after the war, students return to Hogwarts, and Hermione struggles to make her life into what she wants. Add the renewal of S.P.E.W. and a spell gone wrong, and people may start to think the war never really ended. Epilogue-compliant.
1. Shipwreck

**I — Shipwreck**

"_Oh, the weather outside is frightful . . ._"

Life was perfect.

"_. . . but the fire is so delightful . . ._"

Life was grand.

"_. . . and since we've no place to go . . ._"

Frankly, it couldn't get much better. Surrounded by my best mates and on my way to what I would gladly call my second home, nothing could take away from the precious euphoria that coursed through my veins (and arteries and capillaries and other such blood vessels). Nothing could dampen the carefree environment that filled me with every breath of oxygen (and nitrogen and carbon dioxide and other such atmospheric gases).

What started as an attempt to get a silly song out of my head gradually turned into a raucous chorus of Gryffindors with the full intent of ripping to shreds the eardrums of every person on board the Hogwarts Express. None of us seemed to care that we were singing a Christmas song in autumn nor that it could no longer be considered singing when the melody was barely intact.

Rather than caring about either of these things, we gathered breath for the finale, yelling until we were sure our lungs would collapse from the strain.

"_LET IT SNOW, LET IT SNOW, LET IT —_"

The compartment door blew open with a bang, falling off its hinges and smoking rather pathetically. If I hadn't already despised the owner of the wand that caused it, I may have been impressed with the feat. On the other hand, said owner also managed to disrupt the joyful insanity that I had lost myself in just moments before. That, in itself, was good reason to be at least a little bit resentful.

Leave it to me to have such thoughts while the rest of my friends stared at the doorway in shock.

"Would you lot shut the hell up?" seethed none other than Draco Malfoy. "I'm sure there are deaf men in China currently celebrating the miracle of hearing again for the racket that you bloody Gryffindors are making!"

Apparently, I spent too much time thinking and not enough time forming a clever retort since I instantly blurted something about the speed of sound (343 m/s through dry air), the distance from here to China (approximately 5000 km), and the impossibility of his statement.

Realizing too late how I sounded, my rapid and almost incoherent speech slowed to an excruciatingly awkward halt. I flushed with embarrassment and frustration as everyone paused and stared. The silence was killing me slowly.

Malfoy burst into laughter, his Slytherin posse following close behind in the _obvious_ _hilarity_ of it all. In the seats next to and across from me, Ron and Harry shook for a few moments before exploding. Not from righteous anger in my defense — no. They _laughed_.

And laughed.

And laughed.

Next thing you know, the rivaling groups collapsed on each other, hugging and having a great old time as if they'd never wanted to tear each others eyes out. The same way I wanted to right now.

Okay, exaggeration may be one of my more annoying qualities. Honestly though, aren't best mates supposed to look out for each other?

"Oh, Granger! You've outdone yourself this time." Malfoy smirked, but the usually smug expression was ruined by his amusement. My jaw clenched at the latter observation. I was jealous of him. He was having fun in the same way I wanted to, in the same way I deserved to, in the same way I had been before he interrupted it with his destruction of innocent doors and his abuse of, in my opinion, even more innocent Hermione's. Then again, all of this was in my opinion, and there was only one Hermione that really mattered.

Fun was necessary, something that stopped existing sometime between the second rise of Voldemort and the funerals of loved ones after the final battle. Now Malfoy had to come and steal it away from me, covet the one thing I wanted more dearly than anything else. It was _right within my reach_ too. I'd almost lost myself in it. Damn him. Damn him to all hells.

Deciding I could stand the humiliation no longer, I left my seat and stepped over the fallen door. The Slytherins were feeling slightly more accommodating than usual and let me pass without much fuss.

The crazy part is that all of it took place in the duration of about five minutes.

And people wonder why I talk too much. Pfft.

But for all my brainpower, I didn't know where to go. I was walking rather aimlessly — something hard to do on a train considering there are only two directions to choose from. It was sometime later that I found myself at the end of the last car, pulling open the door to the back. Air rushed in, and my brain immediately jumped to its components again: nitrogen, oxygen, argon, carbon dioxide . . .

To quote Ron: Bloody hell! Couldn't I just stop thinking for one measly second?

Measly. What an interesting word. It rhymes with Weasley. My lips twisted into a grimace as I wondered why Malfoy had never used it in one of the sorry excuses that he called insults. Not that I could really talk — my own shot at a comeback had blown up in my face.

I sighed and leaned against the rail, the wind making an absolute wreck of my hair. It was a pity, actually; some free time at the end of summer allowed me to research some potions that tamed my hair rather nicely. Yet, being out there was blissful. Oddly, it made me think of the famous scene from _Titanic_. The thought made me smile softly. On a whim, I spread my arms out.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt a hard body press against me, strong arms stretching out so that my hands were caught tightly in theirs. I managed to gasp loudly before I wrenched my hands from their grasp and spun around to face the invader of my personal space. Malfoy, my personal space invader. How lovely.

"You!" I growled, a lioness to the core. "How dare you! You have no right to touch me, let alone . . ."

My words died in my throat. His eyes, closed when I first turned around, now stared into mine. I got sucked into the color, the depth, the emotion. The lack of emotion. I pulled my eyes and body away from him, confused and disgusted. This boy, man, whichever . . . He must have lost his mind. What happened to Pureblood superiority and Mudblood taint and practically every ideal he used to shove in my face constantly?

Just like in _Titanic_, this was ending in a shipwreck. Insanity. And from the looks of it, Malfoy was beginning to realize it too.

"Shit," he murmured, but I didn't wait to hear the rest of it. I fled into the train and didn't look back.

* * *

Everything had changed. Nothing had changed. It almost hurt my mind to accept the contradiction as it was, but both were true.

Magic restored Hogwarts back to its previous state of majesty, building up walls knocked down by the giants and replacing broken windows. It even cleaned the Great Hall of the blood, sweat, and tears that had stained the floors only months before. You could hardly notice there was a battle at all.

But the reminders were there, branded into our minds even if they weren't branded into the castle. Children were forced to grow up too fast, witnessing the horrors of the world and surviving ordeals that, maybe in another lifetime, they wouldn't even have heard of.

And the reminders were also in the things that weren't there, the people who died and could never return except in photographs and memories (or ghosts, in rare cases).

I told myself it was all worth it. It had to be. At least it was over. Finally over, and I could start where I left off. All of the students were required to repeat their Year, or for the people like me, to enter the Year that they missed. This didn't pose much of a problem except for First Years and Seventh Years, the newcomers and the ones held back.

Since any student of age was allowed to fight in the final battle, predictably, all of the older Gryffindors volunteered; consequentially, a goodly amount either died or was injured enough to not be able to return to school immediately. This helped the situation in its own twisted way, making enough room for the new Seventh Year Gryffindors to share both classes and dorms with the (for the most part) repeating ones.

My roommates included Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, and Ginny Weasley. Oh, the joy!

In other years, that would've been a completely sarcastic statement. This year, it was earnest.

Lavender and Parvati, their graces the Gossip Queens, were partiers and generally just girls who liked to have fun. They used to be shallow sometimes as well, but the war squeezed some of that out. Overall, their graces would be an improvement on the current lack of good times.

Then there's Ginevra Molly, the wonderful Ginny I can always depend on, the rule-breaker extraordinaire. Of course, she got it from her older brothers (excluding Percy Stick-in-his-Arse Weasley), but I'm not complaining this year.

After the Sorting Ceremony and the Welcoming Feast (during which I ignored both Ron and Harry), the Prefects and the Head Boy and Girl led the students to their respective Houses. As a Prefect, I marched in front of the Gryffindor crowd.

"First Years, this way!" I called out, spotting the lost, disorganized group.

Surprised I wasn't made Head Girl? Professor McGonagall decided I've had enough stress to last a lifetime. Adding on the amount of study time necessary for N.E.W.T.s, I would've been driven to insanity. So, as a relief to me, Head Girl was Padma Patil of Ravenclaw, and Head Boy was Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff. Both were academically successful, former members of Dumbledore's Army, and responsible individuals. The fact that neither had lost loved ones simply put the icing on the cake.

But neither stood a chance against Peeves.

Cackling, he fulfilled his duty as poltergeist and resident pain in the arse as he sent Dungbombs at the unsuspecting "ickle firsties".

Ernie took the indirect approach, choosing to explode the projectiles with a well-aimed _Expulso_. Bad results. Everyone was sprayed with the debris.

Padma got the bright idea of casting a Shield Charm in the air above the First Years who were still the main targets. Bad results. Peeves ignored the barrier and reverted his attention to the rest of the student population.

Rolling my eyes, I hit him with a _Stupefy_. He fell to the ground unconscious.

To my surprise, Malfoy followed it up and cast a few Scouring Charms to clean up the mess.

I didn't like to admit it, but we made a good team. When his gaze met mine, I nodding at him in recognition and then proceeded to escort the rest of my House to Gryffindor Tower.

At the portrait of the Fat Lady, she inquired, "Password?"

After some thought, I decided, "Lycanthropy."

Memories of ex-Professor Lupin flashed in my mind for brief seconds. Poor Teddy.

I addressed the First Years, directing them to the staircases that led to the boys' and girls' dormitories. Ron sneaked in a comment to the boys about saving themselves some humiliation later and to just avoid the girls' staircase. Harry chuckled at the memory, but I glared at them both, still miffed about the train incident. The _first_ train incident — completely separate from what I dubbed as the _Titanic_ incident.

"Come on, 'Mione," he implored. As if he even knew how to use the word 'implored' correctly in a complete sentence. "You can't still be mad at us!"

Yes, I could.

"Don't _'Mione_ me, Ronald." I was quickly getting fed up. "You got pleasure out of my humiliation. In front of Malfoy, no less!"

"Aren't you supposed to be the logical, reasonable one?" he argued.

What did that have to do with anything? I opened my mouth to reply angrily, but Harry interrupted my thoughts.

"Things are different now," he explained, trying to dig Ron out of the grave he was digging for himself. "If we still keep our old prejudices, how can we expect the Slytherins to do any better?"

Merlin, they thought I was being _prejudiced?_

"That's not the point!" I cried. I stomped my foot and flung my arms around in the air, making wild gestures. "You two are supposedly my best mates, and I was in an awfully uncomfortable situation. The last thing I needed either — let alone _both_ of you to do was laugh in my face!"

They cringed. Finally, we're getting results.

I sighed. "We all just need to support each other. You're completely right; things are different. Still, I don't appreciate the way you disregarded my feelings."

The last thing I wanted to do was push my friends away, especially over something as silly as this . . . especially after everything we've had to go through.

They looked at each other and seemed to have a silent conversation before turning back and smiling sheepishly at me.

"We're sorry, Hermione," they said almost in unison.

Why did they have to be adorable?

The summer of grieving had brought us even closer together than before. I wouldn't have believed it possible, but it happened.

Ron and I also had something a little different now. The kiss we shared during the Battle of Hogwarts didn't make us officially boyfriend and girlfriend. Neither of us were ready for that so soon after the war, even though we felt more than friendship. Yet, it was comfortable and rarely awkward, except when we fought. Like just now.

I grinned at them and opened my arms wide, laughing when they tackled me onto one of the many plushy couches in the common room. I hugged them both. My boys. My stupid, stupid boys.

Life was perfect.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot and the bunnies that carry them to me.

**NOTES:**

**04.17.09 — **Caelestis Amor is back with a vengeance!

No guarantees on this fic . . . If it all seems rather random, that's because it is. (I actually wrote the first several paragraphs with no idea who the narrator was.) But random is rather humorous in my opinion, so we'll see how it goes. Hopefully, I can string together a decent plot. Again, no guarantees.

If you have time (which you must if you bothered to read this note), review! Getting them gives me this bubbly feeling inside, so spread the love! Tell me if you liked it, loved it, hated it. Give me constructive criticism. Mention which parts you thought were funny. Point out the parts that annoyed you or need to be corrected. As long as you're _polite_, truly polite, and not fake-polite-slash-sarcastic-slash-mocking, I'll even reply.

Thanks for reading!


	2. All or Nothing

**II — All or Nothing**

Oh, how I missed classes!

Don't say it. I know. Loony.

Morning lessons were over, and I wore a maniacal grin all the way to the Great Hall for lunch, drawing unwanted attention and bewildered stares. Harry and Ron only gave each other knowing looks and continued with a conversation about the one subject they knew best: Quidditch. I spent a few moments wondering how you could possibly have a deep discussion about a _sport_. But then again, I've never watched ESPN.

My back laden with heavy books, I walked down the table and sat across from Ginny — who took one look at my face and started laughing. Still high off of learning, I giggled with her.

Distracted from their conversation, Ron and Harry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and the former pouted.

"Hey!" he complained. "Why is _she_ allowed to laugh at you and we're not?"

I displayed my oh-so-cute dimples and answered teasingly, "That's because I'm laughing _with_ her, darling."

Sending a wink in Ginny's direction, I started selecting food from various platters: apples rich with antioxidants, romaine lettuce and tomato salad, lean sliced turkey on whole grain bread . . . I wasn't a health nut. I was just conscious of what I ate, something my boys didn't share in common with me.

Their graces Parvati and Lavender gushed excitedly a few feet away. Stealthily, I tuned in to their conversation.

"Dear Merlin, it should be illegal for him to be so hot!" Lavender sighed dreamily.

Dear Merlin, it should be illegal for her to be such an airhead.

Sorry, I wasn't being fair. Her behavior just reminded me of Sixth Year. It's gag-worthy.

"He's not even a total prick anymore," mentioned Parvati. "Oh, and the way that shirt showed off his arms!"

Lavender licked her lips. "The way those jeans showed off his —"

"Lav!" Parvati laughed, eyes wide in surprise. She really shouldn't have been, considering she . . . Sorry, I was being unfair again.

"I was gonna say 'arse'!"

Okay. Who the hell were they talking about?

I stole a glance at them just in time to see them stop talking and turn toward the entrance, waving and smiling flirtatiously.

At Malfoy.

Suddenly, I realized that I was gawking at him . . . and that he noticed. The one eyebrow he raised in a mocking expression brought my attention to his eyes. His eyes . . . in which I saw nothing. Again, no emotion. If eyes were the windows to the soul, then his must be barred jail cells.

No, that wasn't true; you can see the prisoner behind the bars. Lord Draco Malfoy was anything but a prisoner.

Maybe a more accurate metaphor would be to say he had the curtains closed. Yes. But what was it that he didn't want others to see?

Highly disturbed, I resumed eating my meal, trying to ignore the Gossip Queens while they established his lordship as _the_ yummiest male specimen to ever roam the earth. Gag-worthy.

"Has that salad personally wronged you in some way?" Ginny asked warily.

"Don't be absurd," I muttered.

After watching me worriedly for a few more moments, she grabbed my hand that was once again raised to take a stab at my plate. I glared at her for interfering. The way I saw it, it was better to vent my anger on food rather than people. Humans were slower to forgive things — like attempted murder.

Then I realized that getting mad at Ginny would contradict the reason I was mad at her in the first place. Funny how logic works.

"Sorry, Gin." I smiled at her reassuringly. "I've just got a lot on my mind."

She accepted my apology and weak excuse, saying, "I understand. It's the first day of classes and you're already worried about studying!"

"Yeah, 'Mione," Ron jumped in, swallowing the food in his mouth. "Just slow down. Give it a rest once in a while."

I almost twitched in annoyance. The 'it' he referred to was my mind, of course. Trust me, if it was that easy, I'd do it. They've been my friends for _how_ _long?_ — Six or seven years?

Refraining from starting a lecture on the importance of grades and schoolwork, I merely answered, "I'll try."

"We just care about you," he continued. The look on his face told me he didn't buy my codswallop. "I'm not saying to stop studying altogether, but there's a point where you're pushing the limit. Don't overwork yourself."

Heartened by his thoughtfulness, I beamed and kissed him tenderly.

I felt guilty for not giving my friends any credit. They _did _understand me. I just needed to remember that and hope we could work things out with communication. It was cliché, I knew, but for a reason.

"Come on, you lot," Harry said, ushering us to finish our meals. "We've got to get to our next class."

Our cozy group of four exited the Great Hall together, making our way to the dungeons for Potions. My hand quickly found its way into Ron's, entwining our fingers as we walked. He glanced at me, and his mouth curved into a shy smile. I _would've_ returned it.

If I hadn't fallen flat on my face.

And pulled Ron down with me.

Stunned, we both lay sprawled out on the floor for several seconds. Then Ron saw my shocked expression and started laughing hysterically. Harry and Ginny couldn't help but follow. With the breath thoroughly knocked out of me, I felt lightheaded enough that I soon joined in as well.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Malfoy walk by with a scowl, his eyes narrowing in frustration.

I smelled a tripping jinx.

Still, it wasn't like him to walk away without adding a smart remark or two. Suspicion tickled the back of my mind, telling me I should worry about it more, but I decided that Malfoy was simply a strange person.

And thanks to him, we arrived at Potions late. Professor Slughorn took one look at us and deducted 10 points from Gryffindor, an extremely minor punishment for four students being tardy. (Malfoy didn't look so happy about that either. Not that I'm complaining.) Then he took a few more minutes to conclude the speech we'd interrupted, stressing that we choose our lab partners wisely to last us the whole year.

"I teach Potions, not Musical Chairs. If circumstances require me to move your seat, I may instead decide to move you to a different class for this time slot," he warned. After a pause to make sure we understood, he said, "You have five minutes."

With Ginny added to the group, we had even numbers for partners. When she refused to work with her brother and I also admitted that working with Ron would be too much of a distraction — at which I blushed and they laughed — we settled on having Ron with Harry and Ginny with me.

Being the last to get to class meant we had the last pick of seats. From combining what should've been two separate Years, the room was literally full. The only remaining seats were in the front of the class, which the others observed with distaste. I didn't see the problem. I instructed Ron and Harry to take the table in front of us so that I could whisper tips whenever they really needed it; Slughorn was slightly more lenient than Snape but not by much.

"Hello, Granger, Weasley."

No. No, no, no. As if I haven't had enough of him already!

Ginny murmured a polite response, but I ignored him, beating myself up mentally.

"Granger?"

Why did he bother trying to talk to me?

Oh well.

"Hello, Malfoy," I replied, turning around only enough to meet his eyes for a brief second.

Now I knew why they were so against the seating arrangement.

"I think I need glasses," I whispered to Ginny who snickered and made a teasing comment about my book obsession.

Slughorn clapped twice loudly to get the class's attention.

"It seems as if everyone has arranged themselves properly, so I'll introduce your first assignment." His face crinkled with an amused smile. "To change up the syllabus and start off the year on a good foot, you will be making —"

He turned to the chalkboard and, with a flourish of his wand, instructions appeared. Above them in fancy cursive, it read . . .

Ice cream.

"You have two options for flavors: chocolate and vanilla," he said merrily. "Because this is not your average 'potion', I've had house elves stock the supply room with necessary ingredients and utensils. Also, I hope everyone knows the proper Freezing Charm. It's called _ice_ cream for a reason." He checked his wristwatch. "You have half an hour left in class. Begin."

I instantly went into multi-task mode, lighting two small fires with my wand and setting a cauldron on each while instructing Ginny.

"Get the ingredients for the custard base first."

She nodded and went to the supply room.

"What flavor are you going to make?" asked Malfoy, uncomfortably close to my ear.

I moved over to the side and faced him, noting that his table was set up like mine.

"I don't know yet," I said truthfully.

Huh. Strange. I was almost getting used to his civility. Although I would prefer it if he respected my personal space.

"You can't make a decision?" He actually sounded curious.

Looking away from his face, I answered, "Well, I don't have a preference . . . and it has to be one or the other."

"You're so '_all or nothing_'_,_ Granger," he said, smirking, but it was less malicious and more teasing. "Why can't it be both?"

I scrunched up my nose, frowning. "You mean blend them? Wouldn't that take away from each separate flavor?"

"And people call you the brightest witch of our Year." He rolled his eyes. "Make a swirl. You know, with a little bit of each?"

"That's —" I hesitated, blinking in revelation. A smile spread across my face. "That's brilliant."

He smirked again, but victoriously this time. "I tend to do that once in a while."

Inspired, I hurried to the supply room, passing Ginny who was carrying eggs, milk, cream, and sugar back to our table.

Chocolate, chocolate . . . I spotted a package and grabbed it off the shelf, grinning while I also snagged a vanilla pod.

"Enlarge the cauldron and double the ingredients for the custard. We're making chocolate _and_ vanilla," I told Ginny, noticeably excited.

Behind me, I heard Malfoy laugh and try to cover it up with a fake cough. I ignored him, making sure the heat was low on both fires so the dairy ingredients wouldn't curdle. In the second cauldron, I poured in milk and added the vanilla pod, sliced down the middle.

With nothing left to do but stir and wait, I discreetly checked with the boys to make sure they were doing okay. It seemed that Harry's background with the Dursleys was finally coming in handy; he was familiar with cooking and could direct Ron appropriately.

It also helped that the recipe was one that a First Year could follow.

Fifteen minutes passed, Ginny and I making idle chatter as we each focused on a cauldron. At this point, mine was emitting a delicious fragrance that told me to remove the pod and add the custard. Ginny put the chocolate in the remaining half, and we both continued stirring until her chocolate was thoroughly melted.

Delicious.

Finally, they were ready. I extinguished the fires and thought carefully to remember the proper incantation and wand movements for the Freezing Charm.

"_Glacius,"_ I enunciated softly. Using the full power of the spell would've resulted in an icicle, cauldron and all.

Success! My face lit up at the sight of chocolate ice cream. Pleased, I repeated the spell with the vanilla with equally satisfying results.

Now for the culmination.

I combined both flavors into the larger cauldron, swirling it artfully with a decent amount of what ex-Professor Snape would've deemed as "foolish wand-waving." This made me realize just how many ex-Professors existed for me now, and mostly from DADA.

Quirrell, Lockhart, Barty Crouch Jr. as Mad-Eye Moody, Umbridge I could care less about. Certain memories of Lupin and Dumbledore could bring tears to my eyes. But Snape . . . Of him, and later, _from_ him, there were no fond memories. That was the most tragic of all.

"Ah, Miss Granger, you've done it again!" Slughorn exclaimed proudly as if I owed all of my skills to his superior teaching. Bitterly, I recalled how he had thought my work to be less than stellar in Sixth Year. "Let's see . . . Ten points to Gryffindor should do it."

At least I got back the points we lost for being late.

"Oh, and what do we have here?" He approached Malfoy, and I turned around to watch. "Splendid! A masterpiece!"

Bloody. Hell.

He'd made an ice cream cake: double layer (one chocolate, one vanilla) with fudge between and whipped cream on top and around the edges.

"Twenty points to Slytherin."

Twice as many points as me too.

Disgusted, I faced the front of the room again.

"Thank you, Professor Slughorn," Malfoy said graciously. Ha! As if the git had a gracious bone in his body. Well, I'd show him. We had almost the same schedules. He was going down.

After everyone had cleaned up, class was dismissed, and I raced to leave. I'd be damned if Malfoy beat me in _one_ more thing, including getting to the door. I told myself that I was the best, that I _had_ to be the best.

A vindictive smile graced my lips.

Oh, how I missed classes.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_, including its characters and settings, belongs to someone far more brilliant (and rich) than I.

**NOTES:**

04.22.07 — Ha! A chapter in four days, three of which were schooldays!

I feel accomplished. The plot is setting much better in my head, and I've got chapter titles now. Seriously, I'm on a roll.

I ended this chapter the same way as the other one though, matching the first and last sentences. I swear it won't become a habit. It just _fit_.

Read and review, s'il vous plaît!


	3. Simple Arithmetic

**III — Simple Arithmetic**

"Hermione, Hermione, Hermione!"

What, what, what?

"Have you heard?" Lavender jumped onto my bed and snatched my book away.

"Give that back," I demanded firmly, glaring at the hand that held my treasured possession prisoner. Couldn't I have some privacy on a Saturday afternoon?

She continued as if I hadn't said anything, "There's a party tonight down by the lake."

"No, your grace, I hadn't heard about that."

She knows what I call her but doesn't have a problem with it. The truth is the truth.

"Well, as my loyal vassal, you should come," she said, beaming at me. "You are hereby officially invited."

Wow. An invitation from Queen Lavender.

Then she was flipping through the pages of my book, frowning.

"In fact, I think this party is exactly what you need."

I agreed with her completely, but part of me couldn't help but be skeptical — an invitation from _Lavender?_

"What's the catch?" I asked. She donned an innocent expression, but I cut her off before she could waste her breath. "Just spit it out. You can't fool me."

She sighed. "Seamus is the one who organized the whole thing, but . . . you know how he is with Charms. We need someone who can come up with a way to keep everything hidden from the teachers and only allowing older students to come." At this, she gave me a meaningful look.

Ah. They were serving Firewhiskey.

"Besides," she prattled on, "this really _would_ be good for you: a chance to just let loose and . . . dance." She ended uncertainly, obviously thinking that I might not know how to dance.

Ugh. So what if I like books and learning? And hey, maybe I don't like Quidditch or sports. But I'm not anti-social.

"I can dance perfectly well, for your information," I sniffed indignantly. "Just for that, I'll come and help."

Her face lit up. "You will?" I nodded. "Yes! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Then she hugged me.

Can you say _ouch?_

"Lavender," I gasped, "I can't breath."

She pulled away hurriedly, one hand pressed to her mouth and her eyes wide in shock.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she blurted, combing her fingers through my hair and fixing my clothes. Wincing slightly, I let her. I supposed it was a nice gesture, but it didn't help my aching ribs.

"Don't worry. It didn't hurt," I lied. "What time do you need me?"

We worked out the details in a few minutes.

"Again, thank you so much, Hermione," she said wholeheartedly.

"Uh huh."

I held out my hand and she moved to shake it.

"Can I have my book?"

Surprised, she jolted and then laughed, extending her other hand which held my book.

"Well, I'll see you later," I said in farewell. "I'm going to the library now."

She smiled and said good bye, and I left the room.

Really, Lavender wasn't so bad . . . especially after I'd saved her from a disastrous encounter with Fenrir Greyback in the Battle of Hogwarts last year. But sometimes she could be a little overbearing. Too extreme.

Malfoy's comment from the first day of classes pushed its way to the front of my mind: _"You're so _'all or nothing'_, Granger."_

Maybe she and I had more in common than I thought.

No . . . I didn't wear my thoughts on my sleeve the way she did. I might have been rather extreme as well, but I could control myself.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice immediately when Luna started walking with me. When I finally stopped thinking long enough to see her, I jumped slightly and yelped.

"Wrackspurts again?" she asked casually. "They make even a brain like _yours_ go fuzzy."

She had it completely wrong of course; if Wrackspurts actually existed, I'd hunt them down and have them work their magic on me. Merlin knows I needed it.

"Are you going to the party tonight?" I asked her, not wanting to start a debate at that moment.

"No, but I'll be close by." She gave me a knowing look. "I'm visiting the Giant Squid."

"I see . . ." Silly Luna. "I hope you enjoy yourself."

"Mmhmm."

Then she walked away — you could almost call it floating. I'd never really noticed the easy grace that Luna possessed, but her strides were relaxed and breezy. It was actually rather inspirational how she could be teased so much and so often yet maintain her self-esteem.

Once in the library, I set my book down on a table and began browsing the shelves for books on Age-Line Spells to keep underage students away from the lake. My inspiration was Dumbledore, of course, but I needed a variation that would prevent passage rather than sprout the ridiculous beards that Fred and George had earned in my Fourth Year.

I selected several books that I thought looked promising and went back to my table.

"I hope you don't mind me joining you, Granger."

Exasperation seeped into my voice as I answered, "Of course not, Malfoy."

"I promise I won't bother you . . . You won't even know I'm here."

At least I knew he was still capable of bullshit.

He'd taken the seat across from me, scrolls and parchment strewn across what was now his half of the table. Off to one side was an impressive stack of precariously perched books — and coming from me, that was saying something.

At the top of the stack, I read the last title I ever thought would be among the possessions of Draco Malfoy:

_The Complete Book of Zen_.

Scanning the spines of the rest of the books in the pile, I saw that the majority were on the same subject.

"_Philosophical Meditations on Zen Buddhism_, _Seeing Through Zen_, _Zen Buddhism: A History . . . _?" I read aloud, my eyes practically bulging. "What are you doing reading about all this?"

"You should be the expert on the purpose of books by now, Granger," he said, leaning back in his chair with a smile on his face. "Perhaps I want to learn something."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"No joke."

I stared at him for a few moments before shaking my head in a futile attempt to make sense of what I was seeing and hearing.

"It's a very calming practice, actually," he continued. "My therapist recommended it over the summer, and he says there have been some very obvious improvements in my behavior."

Huh. This would really explain a lot, now that I thought about it.

Wait.

"You're seeing a therapist?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes." He smirked and replied sarcastically, "I am, after all, a troubled teenage wizard with a twisted upbringing and abusive parents — and let's not forget Voldemort's influence on my mentality."

"Your therapist tell you that?"

"He sure as hell thinks it every time he sees me," he muttered bitterly, looking away. "I'm sorry. I told you I wouldn't bother you, and now I'm sharing my pathetic sob story."

I opened my mouth to tell him I didn't mind at all — that I wanted to know more — but his body language showed his discomfort, so I decided to butt my nose out just this once. Besides . . . who would've thought Malfoy would be spilling his guts to _me_, the poster child for Muggle-borns everywhere!

With his silence, I picked up one of my Charms books and opened it to a page listed in the table of contents. After a while, I realized I was reading the same sentence repeatedly.

Ugh. Stupid Malfoy and his bloody confessions.

Frustrated, I checked out all of the books and left.

* * *

Here's some simple arithmetic for you: music + friends + drinks = FUN.

Finally, this was what I'd been waiting for!

I nodded my head in time with the beat, seated at one of several tables arranged around the makeshift dance floor with a Butterbeer in my hand. I was surrounded by several other Seventh Year Gryffindors.

Neville, emboldened by the drinks, got up and approached Hannah Abbott at another table. He practically radiated confidence as they spoke for a few moments, and when they went to dance, our table erupted in cheers.

Following Neville's example, Ron turned to me and asked for a dance.

My heart pounded in my chest, and I answered excitedly, "Sure."

The song changed to a slow one, and though there were less than fifty students in Seventh Year, the floor was packed. Ron took my hand and led me toward the center, the crowd swallowing us until my sight was filled with couples.

And Ron — always Ron.

He met my gaze with a smile, placing my arms around his neck and moving his own hands to my hips.

"I've wanted to do this since Fourth Year," he admitted. "I regret being such a git back then."

"You're still a git, Ron," I teased him, tugging gently on his hair as we swayed and moved with the music.

He pouted. "Isn't this where you add that I'm _your _git?"

I grinned cheekily, looking him in the eye. "You wish."

But truthfully, his hands were sending warm tingles through my body. I felt his thumbs making soothing circles on my hips, and I melted further into him, laying my head on his chest with my eyes closed. His arms tightened around my waist. I felt safe and at peace.

We stayed like that for a few moments until he said something that made my eyes pop open again.

"I love you, Hermione."

_Whoa!_

I pulled back and stared at him, more stunned than . . . than if I'd been hit with multiple Stunning Spells!

"I, uh . . ." I hesitated. "Well, you know I love you too, Ron."

His eyes searched mine until he finally sighed, understanding what I wouldn't — couldn't — say.

"But not as more than a friend," he said, his mouth stretched in a painful smile.

"Ron, I'm sorry —"

"No, it's okay," he assured me, and I could tell he meant it. "There was always a chance you didn't feel the same way, but I wanted you to know."

"I _do_ feel something for you though," I replied fervently. "It's just . . . I don't think it's enough yet."

A glimmer of hope lifted his expression, but it didn't ease the guilt weighing down my chest.

"Then I'll wait until it _is_ enough," he proclaimed, stroking my face softly. "I _will_ make you love me."

And then he kissed me.

My eyes closed instinctively, and I clutched onto his shirt. His lips caressed mine in a way that made blood race through my veins. I would've fallen to the ground if not for a quick decision to lock my knees. A roaring sound filled my ears.

When I could think well enough to react, I answered his kiss passionately, and he tangled his fingers in my hair. After several blissful seconds, he pulled away, leaving me breathless and, frankly, wanting more.

He chuckled at my disheveled appearance, dropping one last kiss on my forehead.

"Well, that was a start," he said.

A _start?_ If that was only a start, then what comes next?

Don't answer that.

It was only when I was breathing regularly again that I realized everyone was watching us. At least it explained the roaring.

Ron led the way out of the crowd, receiving several whoops and pats on the back in congratulations.

I literally collapsed into my chair when we got to our table.

"You've finally got her, mate!" Dean cheered, lifting his mug to 'us'.

"He hasn't got anything," I corrected him.

Our friends gave us confused looks.

"Firstly, I'm not a prize to be won," I explained. "Secondly, Ron and I aren't dating."

"But . . ." Ginny floundered. "But you just . . ."

"We're not dating," I repeated forcefully, glaring her down. I shot Ron an expectant look.

"We're not dating," he confirmed. I supposed he meant for it to sound nonchalant, but I knew better.

"Well," Harry intervened, "now that's taken care of, why don't we make things more interesting?"

Ha. More interesting. Good one, Harry.

"Truth or Dare," he announced. "General rules apply, and you're allowed to pass on your turn — but there's a catch." He paused to grin, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You have to take a shot of Firewhiskey."

Oh damn.

I think it goes without saying that I can't hold my liquor.

Then again, wasn't this whole experience about letting loose?

"To make things even more binding," I added, "we should all swear Wizards' Oaths."

Everyone stared at me, obviously under the impression that I would've condemned the game. To think that I would sanction it (not to mention _improve _it) was unspeakable.

I'd found information on Wizards' Oaths while I was researching the Age-Line Spells. They were basically an adapted Unbreakable Vow, but rather than killing an oath-breaker, it prevented one from breaking the oath in the first place. Just one more bit of knowledge to add to my arsenal.

After a bit of explaining, we went around the table and swore ourselves in.

Seamus started the first round, "Truth or dare, Dean?"

"Dare," he said challengingly. That's a true Gryffindor right there.

"Brilliant." The Irish boy smirked victoriously. "Go hit on Hannah. Use the most suggestive pick-up line you know."

Dean paled instantly, but after some muttering and deep breaths, he stood and walked to the Hufflepuff table. We all laughed at his suave expression, but it was nothing compared to when Hannah responded with a brutal smack across the face.

During this, Neville was coming with two Butterbeers in his hands. He witnessed everything and quickly set down the drinks, closing in on Dean with long strides. Then his fist crashed into his jaw, and poor Dean was sent sprawling on the ground. For extra measure, Hannah grabbed one of the Butterbeers and poured it all over him.

When he trudged back to our table sopping wet, we asked him laughingly what he'd said to her.

"I told her that I'd noticed she likes Gryffindors because of Neville and all that . . ." He blushed miserably. "Then I asked her if she wanted to play lion and said that . . . that she should kneel down and I'd, uh, throw her my meat."

The table was silent for a second, each face displaying utter disbelief.

But of course, we all cracked up eventually.

Dean sank down into his seat, embarrassed.

"It's . . . your turn . . . to ask," Ginny reminded him between fits of giggles.

The boy composed himself as best he could.

"Truth or dare . . ." He paused, thinking. "Ron!"

The redhead shook his head. "I'll pass."

He accepted the Firewhiskey Harry handed him, and we all cheered as he gulped it down.

Dean tried again. "Okay . . . Parvati!"

After the spectacle Dean had made out of himself, the Indian girl couldn't help but grimace.

"Truth," she decided.

"Who," he asked, "did you have your first sexual experience with?"

At this, she resembled a deer caught in headlights.

"I'm not comfortable with saying," she admitted shakily.

"Oh, it can't be that bad," Lavender coaxed. "Just tell us."

"But it's you," Parvati whispered, looking down.

Everyone looked confused.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

She closed her eyes, but she answered in a clear voice, "My first time was with Lavender."

Oh. My. Merlin.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** The only thing I share in common with J.K. Rowling is a first initial; furthermore, I own nothing from _Harry Potter_.

**NOTES:**

05.05.09 — I have _two_ whole reviews!

It's better than nothing, I know, but I really wanna know what you guys think! How do I improve if I don't get feedback? You don't have to write a big speech (although that's cool too), but just . . . something!

Thank you to my lovely reviewers. One of them, Erin, brought up the opinion that this is more Hermione/Draco rather than Hermione/Ron as I categorized it. She (possibly he) has a point, but just have faith that it _will_ be Ron in the end. This isn't coming easily for me. I haven't written or developed any sort of plot in a while.


	4. Too Harsh

**IV — Too Harsh**

"Blimey, Parvati!"

Ron's voice was incredulous, and others around the table were voicing similar thoughts.

"You've . . . shagged . . . Lavender?"

"Are you a lesbian?"

"Maybe bisexual, Seamus."

"Ugh. They share a dorm!"

Lavender sat silently, looking close to tears and watching Parvati who was quickly working her way toward hyperventilating.

"Stop it, all of you!" I cried. "She's answered the bloody question already. Can't you see what this is doing to her — to _them?_"

None of them understood. Realizing that Lavender was also uncomfortable, they began pestering her with questions too. Frustrated, I stood and pulled the two girls from their seats.

"You should all be ashamed!" The shrillness of my voice made them freeze. "And you call yourselves Gryffindors — chivalrous, indeed." I sneered in a good impression of Malfoy. Ha. "At least I know you've all got _nerve_."

They should've been grateful that I had some self-control. If any of them had spoken back, I might've hexed them. Luckily, none did, and I settled for dragging Parvati and Lavender to safety.

"Come on," I muttered, gripping their arms.

Both followed me blindly as I directed them away from the party and toward the banks of the lake. Parvati collapsed against a large boulder, trying to control her breathing. Lavender fell to her knees at the edge of the water, sobbing softly with tears flowing freely down her face. Her makeup was smeared, and surely she could see that in her reflection in the water, but she didn't seem to care. That in itself spoke volumes.

I didn't know who seemed more traumatized; it took a few moments to decide who to console first. Finally, I got on my knees beside Lavender and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. She flinched and shuddered but moved closer, burying her face in my neck. I could feel the wetness of her tears against my skin.

"Shhh . . ." I whispered, "Everything's fine, Lav. Don't cry. . ."

Behind me, I heard another girl's voice. I turned my head to see Hannah trying to comfort Parvati.

"I never realized," Lavender mumbled, regaining my attention. "I mean . . . we . . . she and I experimented, you know," she sniffled, "so it wasn't completely a shock . . . I'd just . . . always thought . . ."

She made an irritated noise somewhere between a grunt and a growl.

"You can tell me." I promised, "I won't judge you."

"I've always been such a hormonal witch," she admitted, obviously ashamed. "I never thought — never realized — that I might've been her first . . ." She grimaced. "She never told me and, well, I've had a good number of partners." She paused before adding, "Both genders."

This kept getting better and better.

"So why are you so upset?"

"I took my best friend's virginity!" She laughed almost sarcastically. "And don't forget my bipolar disorder."

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Bipolar disorder?"

"Yeah, I have mood swings that can sometimes be extreme." There's that word again. "I always carry around a vial of Calming Draught in case I —"

She laughed again but seemed actually amused this time. From her robes pocket, she pulled out a tiny, cylindrical piece of glass and unstopped it, downing half of its contents. Already comprehending what she was planning, I stood and took the vial from her.

"Parvati." I smiled weakly at her and Hannah, offering the potion. "Calming Draught."

Although the Hufflepuff had helped the girl regulate her breathing, her hands still shook as she accepted the vial and pressed it to her lips. There was an instant improvement in her composure.

"Lavender," she said quietly, kneeling on the shores next to her friend. The brunette looked at her, still misty-eyed but not hysterical. Parvati whispered her name again and hugged her tightly. Lavender returned the embrace instantly, tangling her fingers in the other girl's hair.

I watched silently for a few moments before Hannah mumbled, "We should give them some time alone."

We walked several meters away from the lake but made sure not to get too close to the ongoing party.

"You did a good thing, Hermione."

I laughed, "You know me: saving the world one step at a time." She gave me a sobering look. "Okay, I know. They just seemed so helpless, and I got so _angry_. You'd think people would be more tolerant of things after the war, but . . ." I huffed.

Hannah tried to reason, "The war wasn't fought over homosexuality — or bisexuality, for that matter."

"I don't care!" I burst out. "It's all the same, isn't it? People should be accepted for who they are; they can't choose who they love any more than I can choose my ancestry."

To be honest, the whole sexuality thing was pretty weird to me . . . but no one should be treated the way Parvati and Lavender were tonight.

"You're preaching to the choir," she reminded me, "but as much as I agree with you, I think you were a little too harsh on your friends."

I looked at her with disbelief. Too harsh? They'd been acting like absolute morons!

"It came as a shock." I opened my mouth to retort, but she continued, "With very few exceptions, Gryffindors are rather notorious for ignoring the 'think before you speak' lesson in childhood."

I blinked rapidly.

Oh. Right. I should really know that by now.

Hannah sat beneath a tree, the crisp leaves crunching beneath her. I followed suit, tearing a few blades of grass and twirling them between my fingers. The night was growing colder and darker, so we isolated a pile of leaves in the dirt and set it on fire.

"So, why did you follow us when we left the party?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "I heard most of the commotion and decided to check it out. After your rather scathing exit line —" She laughed once. "— I realized you were outnumbered two to one and might need some help."

"I did, thanks."

We were quiet after that. It was a comfortable silence, and it gave me time to quickly run through recent events in my mind: Malfoy's Zen, Hannah and Neville, dancing with Ron, his declaration of love, the kiss, Truth or Dare . . . which reminded me —

"Sorry about Dean," I blurted, breaking the silence.

The Hufflepuff laughed and brushed off my apology. "Don't worry about it. I realized what was going on from the moment he opened his mouth."

My jaw fell to the ground as I gawked at her. "But you . . ."

She laughed even harder. "It was so funny! You can't imagine how hard it was to have to pretend to be insulted at his pick-up line, as raunchy as it was." She grinned mischievously. "Neville definitely helped my act. He's such a sweetheart."

"You're lucky to have him," I agreed, and she positively beamed at me.

The music from the party never ceased, and it almost made me regret walking out on it. I'd ruined my chance to be wild and have a good time. Why did I have to open my big mouth? Maybe Hannah was right and everyone was just shocked; maybe it would've been fine after things calmed down.

Well, I wasn't going to worry about it anymore.

"Why don't we liven things up?" I suggested, and I directed a Summoning Charm toward the party. Two bottles of Firewhiskey flew through the air, and I caught them deftly.

Crackling leaves announced the arrivals of Lav and Parvati as they joined Hannah and I, forming a small semicircle.

"How are you doing?" Hannah asked them, concern evident on her face.

I love Hufflepuffs — so damn nice all the time.

"We're fine," Parvati answered, eyeing the alcohol in my hands. Noticing the appreciative look, I handed her one and she accepted it, taking a healthy swig.

"Well, that's not fair," Lavender complained jokingly. She smiled when Parvati passed her the bottle.

Hannah seemed uncertain when I offered her a drink, but after a moment of deliberation, she shrugged her shoulders and said, "What the hell."

We passed the Firewhiskey around several times. Finally, we turned the bottles completely upside-down and nothing came out.

Lavender and Parvati shared a look between each other until Parvati nodded and Lav said, "We're ready to go back to the party."

My eyes flew open in shock. Hannah didn't look so surprised.

"Are you sure?" I asked skeptically. "What if they start asking more questions?"

"We'll have to answer them eventually . . . not necessarily now."

I stared at both girls, trying to wrap my brain — enormous as it was — around the idea. In my peripheral vision, I saw Hannah nod her approval.

I sighed, "Well, who am I to get in the way of fun?" What an ironic question.

They grinned. I grinned back. In seconds, the fire was extinguished, and we were following the sound of blaring music. The song playing had a low, fast beat that made my heart rattle and my body vibrate.

It felt absolutely thrilling.

The two ex-lovers/best friends wasted no time joining the clump of dancers. Gyrating. Oh, wow.

Maybe they wouldn't be _ex_-lovers for long.

Soon, they had an audience: wizards who started whistling loudly, catcalling, and shouting perverted comments. I guessed they didn't have a problem with homosexuality as long as a couple of hot witches were involved — and they got to watch the action.

I looked at Hannah for her reaction, but she merely laughed and said, "If you're randy, you're randy."

At this, I shook my head in a fake show of disapproval. She understood from the smile I couldn't keep off my face. Then I spotted the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, and Ginny repeatedly glanced over but stopped when they noticed me watching. Hm.

I thanked Hannah again and told her I'd talk to her later; I was going to go "deal with" my friends.

"Hey, 'Mione," Ron greeted me when I drew close. He wore a tight grimace. "I see you worked things out."

"With no help from you, Ronald." I glared. "Nor you two, actually."

"You have to understand —" Harry started.

"Please," Ginny added, looking downright miserable. She wasn't used to being on the receiving end of my anger. Suddenly my conscience was bothering me. It took the voice of Hannah Abbott.

"But I do." Deep breaths, Hermione, deep breaths. "I understand. I can't place the blame on you."

Hannah was right. Although the reactions of my friends greatly differed from my own, I had to admit that everything came without thinking. They succumbed to shock and I to anger.

"We don't really have a problem with Lavender and Parvati," Harry continued.

"They can do whatever they want with whomever they want," Ginny chimed in, nodding rapidly.

Ron stayed silent through this, watching the girls dance promiscuously with his mouth slightly agape.

"Ronald?" I pressed. "Ronald!"

His head whipped in my direction, eyes wide.

"I guess you don't have a problem with Lavender and Parvati then," I said wryly.

He blushed madly, his ears lighting up like hot peppers. It might've been cute if he hadn't just been ogling other girls.

Okay, it was still cute.

He mumbled something under his breath that sounded agreeable. I decided to let it all slide.

"Let's dance," I suggested, a slight smirk on my face. I held my hand out to him, and he took it.

Maybe I'd had too much to drink. Did I care? Not really.

His hands gripped my hips as I slid my body against his. He kissed my neck softly but passionately to the point where I felt as if my body was on fire . . . and the burn was so good. All thoughts flew out of my brain. My every nerve was attuned to the sensation of his lips on my skin, his body on mine.

Yeah, too much to drink. Still didn't care.

* * *

Oh, bloody hell.

Too much to drink. Definitely cared now.

"You okay down there?"

Pain, pain, pain. _How much did I have?_ More when I got back to the party. How much more? Oh . . .

"Hello? Granger?"

Who called me Granger?

"Malfoy," I growled.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I'm charging $5 for every chapter because I wrote the _Harry Potter_ series and have the right to sell this material . . . Ha. Note the sarcasm.

**NOTES:**

06.27.09 — Wow. Almost two months?

I'm so sorry to anyone who was actually waiting for an update. As my profile says, things were pretty crazy for a while. But now my boyfriend's in Boston for a week, so I'm less distracted. xP

Thanks for reading. Please review!


	5. News Flash

**V — News Flash**

The very sound of Malfoy's voice made my head throb. Not that it made much of a difference since I already had a raging headache, and his voice _always_ bothered me.

"Do you need anything?" he asked.

I opened my eyes to try to see his face so I could tell whether or not he was serious. His tone sounded sincere enough, but . . .

Oh Merlin! The light!

"Granger? Are you awake? Can you hear me?"

I groaned, "Hurts . . . Water . . ."

"Oh." Surprised manner. "Right."

He muttered a few spells to conjure a container but clearly uttered, "_Aguamenti_." A show of faith, I supposed. He carefully lifted my head and brought the water to my lips. I drank heavily.

"Thanks," I whispered. I felt better. Kind of. "What are you doing here?"

"I'd like to ask _you_ that," he replied. I wasn't going to risk being blinded again, but I could imagine the inquisitive look on his face.

"You're not supposed to be here."

He chuckled. "I'm definitely allowed. Do you even know where 'here' is?"

Gryffindor Tower, right? Girls' dorm?

Oh no.

"We're by the lake." Here, he probably smirked. If not, he certainly did when I shot up like a rocket.

"What?" I yelled. Then I immediately clutched my head. "Ouch. Ugh."

Did I really fall asleep at the party? Or maybe the more appropriate phrase would be "passed out." But why would my friends just leave me here?

I hastily inventoried my clothing . . . Everything was where it should be. At least I hadn't done anything crazy like jump into bed with someone.

With Malfoy. Ew.

"What time is it?" I asked. The light wasn't killing me as much. "Actually, what _day_ is it?"

He laughed, "You really don't remember? It's 13 September 1998, Sunday afternoon, half past two." My stomach growled. "And a little late for lunch."

I sighed dejectedly. No food, no idea why I was still at the lake. And _Malfoy_.

"You still haven't told me why you're here," I reminded him.

At this, he picked up a book that had been lying beside him. It was one I saw yesterday.

"Don't tell me you're really going to . . . _meditate_."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Why not?" He smiled. Why did he keep doing that? "You can even join me if you'd like. It seems as though you need to get your mind off of things."

Then he stood, and I wondered if he was joking, but when he repositioned himself cross-legged on the shore, he turned his head around and motioned for me to come.

Wow. Really? Part of me was unsure. The other part of me said that Malfoy was a civilized human being now and that meditating would be a beneficial experience. The second part won, and almost mechanically, I went to sit beside him. There was at least a foot between us.

"Focus on your breathing," he instructed softly. "In," he inhaled, "and out," he exhaled. His breaths made little to no sound, but by watching his chest move, I saw he was breathing slowly and deeply.

I followed his example, closing my eyes.

"Find your center of balance. Ignore everything else."

With almost no effort, I blocked out all excess noise. My thoughts were scarce and basic, all my concentration put toward breathing. Just breathing. Malfoy may have said more, but I didn't hear him. The size of my world had been reduced to my respiration system and the air pumped in and out.

In and out. It was so calming. I might have sat there forever, thinking of nothing else.

Then something knocked me over, and my eyes snapped open. Sounds rushed to my ears: roaring water, high-pitched screaming, waves crashing against the shore. Malfoy lay on top of me, shielding my body with his.

"Get away from here," he shouted into my ear. Any louder and he would've burst my ear drums, but I didn't think about that as he got off of me and I leaped to my feet.

Come on. I was a war hero. Did he really think I would run from danger?

I quickly assessed the situation, instinctively drawing my wand from my robes. The first thing invading my vision was the Giant Squid, its tentacles thrashing about wildly. Clutched in one was a body.

Luna? She said she would visit last night during the party.

No. The person was male. He opened his mouth in what I thought was a plea for help, but what came out was a painful wail. I'd heard this before several times.

Fourth Year, Triwizard Tournament, second task. This was a merman.

"_Stupefy!_" Malfoy yelled.

A Stunner was no use, I already knew, remembering how many Ministry officials were gathered in Fifth Year to take out Hagrid, and he's nowhere near as large. This required a more direct approach. Something more precise to our needs, and all we needed was to rescue the merman.

"_Relashio!_" The Giant Squid released him, and his body fell rapidly toward the lake's surface.

Oh dear.

"_Aresto Momentum!_"

Thank you, Malfoy. Now for the finishing touch, a Summoning Charm. After I said the incantation, Malfoy repeated it, and our combined magic brought the victim safely out of the squid's clutches. We slowly lowered him to the lake again once he was just close enough to the shore to be immersed in water.

Briefly, I was reminded of the incident after the Welcoming Feast this year: Malfoy and I versus Peeves. Even then, we made a good team.

"What do you think this bloke did to get in trouble with the Giant Squid?" Malfoy wondered.

"Ask him," I suggested.

He looked at me incredulously. "I don't speak Mermish."

"Neither do I," I admitted, "but you don't need to."

With a bit of his old sneer, he snapped, "Meaning?"

I couldn't believe I was doing this, but as an answer, I began to take my clothes off, walking toward the water. Not once did I look back; I didn't want to see his face. And I didn't want him to see mine which now displayed a lovely shade of red.

Just before my head went beneath the surface, I cast a Bubble-Head Charm. Then, I dived. The squid had left with some attitude, but he was clearly gone. A few yards ahead of me, the merman was recovering at the bottom of the lake.

He opened his eyes as I approached him, big yellow eyes that _shouldn't_ have sent shivers down my spine but did anyway. They clashed painfully with his gray skin and his hair of dark green. Around his neck sat a necklace of pebbles, more ornate than others I'd seen of the merpeople.

At the sight of me, he pushed off of the ground with his silver tail and swam quickly in the other direction.

"Wait!" I yelled, but I forgot the Bubble-Head Charm kept in all sound.

I tried to chase him, but against his obvious swimming advantages and his adrenaline, I was no match. After a few minutes, I gave up and turned back.

"So, what happened?" Malfoy asked when I got to shore. Politely, he sat with his back turned to me.

As I applied a Drying Charm and dressed, I answered, "He ran — swam — away, and I couldn't talk to him."

He shrugged. "Well, we did what we could."

"I'm surprised that it _was_ 'we' considering your track record."

"What can I say?" He said sarcastically, "Therapy helps."

Not sure how to respond to that, I kept my mouth shut.

"That reminds me. I have a session today with Gus."

"Gus?"

"Augustus Pye. Sound familiar?"

I looked at him suspiciously. "Is it supposed to?"

"My session may start late depending on when Potter gets finished," he replied bluntly.

What? Rewind!

"Harry's getting therapy?" I cried.

Getting to his feet, he said firmly, "You didn't hear it from me."

The nerve! How could he drop something like that on me and expect me to just accept it?

Fiercely, I grabbed his shoulder and hissed, "Answer me!"

He spun around, shrugging off my hand with a dark expression on his face and fists balled tightly at his sides. Was he going to hit me?

"What did you think, Little Miss Gryffindor Princess? That the Chosen One is always perfect, never has any problems? Well, news flash, Granger: He's been traumatized at least twice as much as the rest of us."

"Harry's one of my best friends; I know what he's been through."

"Is that so? Sorry, I forgot. The Golden Trio has no flaws."

"Just like you and your Death Eater pals, right?"

He clenched his jaw tightly and met my gaze with a cold stare.

"I've only ever associated with the _best_, Granger," he so politely informed me. "The wealthiest, the most powerful, the most influential —"

"The purest blood, you mean!" I interjected indignantly. "News flash, Malfoy: Blood doesn't define people, and that's the _only_ category that you've ever been best at."

"Oh, that's rich coming from a bloody know-it-all."

"At least that will get me somewhere in life!"

"And money won't?" he countered smugly.

Ugh, I couldn't stand him anymore.

"Damn you to hell, Malfoy!"

Then I slapped him. Déjà vu. He staggered, and I whipped out my wand and held the tip right between his eyes.

Just as quickly, a blast sent me flying, and my wand fell from my fingers. As I moved to get back up, Malfoy knelt beside me and pointed his own wand in my face. Frightened — yeah, I'll admit it — I laid back down.

Scowling, he growled, "Next time, disarm the enemy first."

He cast a Body-Bind Curse, threw my wand at me, and left.

* * *

Oh, how the tables have turned. And Malfoy had once again been labeled as an enemy.

Still fuming, I entered the Great Hall and took my seat with the Gryffindors. It was already dinner time, which was fortunate since I hadn't eaten all day. As if I didn't have enough reason to be cranky.

"Where have you been, Hermione?" Ginny asked.

"Lake," I mumbled, getting a portion from every platter in front of me. Food, food, food. This must be how Ron feels every day of his life.

"Why were you down by the lake again?"

"'Again'?" I swallowed the food in my mouth before continuing, "I woke up there."

All three of them froze, expecting me to dive into a full-blown rant. Instead, I shoveled more food down my throat at a pace that would soothe my stomach and possibly give me heartburn. But I could worry about that later.

On second thought, that's what ended me up with a hangover. With this in mind, I began to slow down my eating.

"We thought you'd left early," Ginny gasped finally.

"We're so sorry, Hermione," Harry said earnestly.

"Don't worry about it," I told them.

I meant it, too. All they'd been doing since school started again was apologize to me. I was sick of it, and if that meant holding back a few complaints here and there, I was fine with it.

"Are you sure?" Ron asked tentatively. The caring expression he wore was incredibly endearing. Why couldn't I love him the way he wanted me to?

Then suddenly I realized that I shared that want. So badly. To make him happy, to make myself happy . . . What the hell was my problem?

"Yes," I answered softly, my eyes watering slightly. I looked away and blinked several times to clear them. "Really, it's fine."

He stared at me skeptically. "If you say so, 'Mione."

Hannah must've been one special girl to have made such a large impact on me in one night, and Neville was one lucky guy to be able to claim her as his girlfriend. If only I could be that special and Ron be that lucky. But the feelings he had for me I couldn't return. Not completely, or at least that was what I thought. Oh, I was so confused.

After dinner, we all left the Great Hall together, but Ron held me back so that we could walk alone.

"Do you remember anything about last night?" he asked, getting straight to the point.

"Like what?" Obviously I knew what he was talking about, but . . .

"I love you, Hermione."

I needed to hear him say it again.

"Really? I might need some more convincing," I said with a playful smile.

He stopped and pulled me into his arms. After a moment of eye contact, I moved forward and pressed my lips to his.

I decided that although I was uncertain about the level of my feelings toward _him_, I sure did love his kisses.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's, the lucky girl.

**NOTES:**

06.28.09 — Ha! In your face!

A chapter in a day. I'm pretty sure that would translate to a hole in one in golf, so I'm pretty damn satisfied. (Not that I play golf.)

I also changed all the chapter headings from standard form to Roman numerals because when/if I get past chapter ten, it would start getting really annoying to spell them all out.

All spells I got off of the Harry Potter Wiki, a very useful site.

I enjoyed having Hermione think, "Rewind." Ah, VCR. I'm pretty young, so Wikipedia tells me that DVDs only came out in Japan in '96 and in the USA in '97, so I don't think they would've been that big so fast.

Review if you want to make someone smile!


	6. Trial Basis

**VI — Trial Basis**

Another week of life, another week of classes.

The days had come and gone in a whirlwind of events and changes, leaving behind chaos and, most of all, confusion in its wake. Throughout the week, I regarded different people in different ways: Malfoy as a renewed enemy, Ron as a not-in-love-with not-yet-boyfriend, and Hannah, Lav, and Parvati as new friends.

Blame it on the alcohol.

After my last lesson on Friday, Charms, I headed to the library to conduct some research. Nothing out of the ordinary for anyone who knew me, but the reason for which I needed information would change society on so many levels. The need for it arose with the merman encounter, and after a private discussion with Professor Flitwick, I believed I could do it.

I was going to develop a Translation Charm. For languages.

It would breach communication barriers for wizards worldwide! With enough knowledge, we could expand our reach to other beings, maybe even animals. After all, if you could speak Parseltongue, you could converse with snakes. My current goal, however, was Mermish.

I raided the Spell Development and Communication Magic sections for anything that looked the least bit helpful: _Mastering Wandwork, Incantation Creation, Choosing the Right Words . . . Transcending Time and Space, Universal Language, A History of Speech . . ._

So many books and so little time to read them all. Studying for the N.E.W.T.s did take precedence, after all. But I relished in the work, and being overwhelmed was something I'd grown used to.

On my way to Madam Pince's desk, I passed by the table Malfoy and I had shared on Saturday. Was it really just a week ago? Then I remembered our fight and what he'd said about therapy.

About Harry.

Where would he be right now? Think, Hermione, think . . . We were talking about it during lunch. He mentioned possibly not having enough time to study, and I'd argued vehemently with him about it. Why would he be busy?

Of course. Why else? Quidditch. Tryouts, more specifically. Hopefully they wouldn't take too long since only a few slots needed to be filled.

Not many players had died last year. Thank Merlin.

Back in the common room, I found Harry, Ron, and Ginny just getting back from the pitch. They were seated by the fireplace, chatting excitedly about tactics for each game and the skills of their new teammates that they could use to their advantage. I decided I wouldn't spoil the mood, so I settled down at a nearby table and opened all of my books with a piece of parchment and quill at the ready.

Several hours later — no joke, they really discuss Quidditch for that long — and after several attempts at getting me away from my work, they retired for the night. Quickly, I got up and intercepted the boys.

"Harry, I need to talk to you." With an apologetic glance at Ron, I added, "Alone for now. Please."

The redhead looked troubled for a moment, probably hurt at being excluded while trying to understand there was probably a good reason for it. He'd really progressed a lot from the hothead he used to be. War can do that to you, and so can abandoning your friends in the middle of it. At least he came back.

Finally, he attempted a weak smile and said, "All right."

"I'll explain later if I can," I promised, giving him a small kiss. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Harry and I watched him leave until I broke the silence.

"When were you going to tell us about Gus?"

Shock. Guilt. Suspicion. Frustration. All flashed across his face in quick succession.

"Who told you?"

"That doesn't matter." I tried not to get angry. "The fact remains that it wasn't you."

He averted his eyes and glared at the wall. "It's a stupid thing McGonagall signed me up for. Augustus Pye is the trainee Healer that tried to give Mr. Weasley stitches after the snake bite. He liked Muggle techniques, and psychology was one he thought might come in handy after . . ."

Fill in the blank.

"Why didn't you tell us about it?"

"Mostly because I felt it wasn't important."

"Not important?" I gaped at him. "If you're having problems, if you need to talk to someone, you know you have friends that will always be there for you. To hear that you're seeing a therapist was a terrible shock."

"I know, I know," he sighed, "but there's nothing I'm telling Gus that I haven't told you lot already."

I stared at him for a long time, trying to decide on my next move.

"Anything else you'd like to mention?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment and then blurted, "Malfoy's getting therapy too."

"Interesting." Not a lie. "He certainly needs it."

"More than me, at least," he said bitterly. Then his tone became more sympathetic as he added, "I don't think he has anyone else to talk to."

"I've seen him with his friends before," I argued, actually shocked that Harry thought that. I'd never considered . . .

He shook his head. "Those aren't friends. Those are lackeys, and even _they_ are in short supply after his family lost so much of their power."

"I hadn't noticed."

After Voldemort's downfall, the Malfoys took a big hit. It was all over the Daily Prophet. Their reputation was diminished, and a large portion of their assets was seized by the Ministry. The former was a given, and the latter was partially to repair damages by the war and partially just to be arses. Everyone seemed to forget, sometimes consciously, that they'd reformed for the better.

Including me. I'd snarled at Malfoy about "his Death Eater pals" and his money.

I told Harry good night and to make sure Ron knew what was going on. I had something to do.

* * *

The next morning, I awoke early and headed to the Owlery.

At breakfast when the morning post came, I watched the Slytherin table carefully. When a brown school owl swooped down, I knew he'd gotten my letter. Satisfied, I finished with my meal.

Afterward, I headed back to the library, unloading my usual mountain of books onto a table. I was well into several of my Spell Development books when I realized I'd gone about it all wrong. I was missing a very important piece to my research.

At the 1994 Quidditch World Cup, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge amplified his voice with _Sonorus_; he'd pointed his wand at his throat. When Transfiguring a specific body part, one points directly at it. Potions are brewed with ingredients dealing specifically with its purpose. Salves are applied on the area of the wound.

Language is controlled in the brain. My spell had to affect the brain.

This made things all the more complicated.

"Granger."

That certainly didn't help either.

"Feel free to have a seat, Malfoy," I told him, not bothering to look up from my work. I started scribbling furiously, scratching things out and adding more as I adapted the information to my recent revelation. I'd developed spells before but none like this. It was aggravating and exhilarating at the same time.

Malfoy apparently decided not to discuss my letter of apology as he pulled a chair next to me and observed my research. I stopped and watched him read, seeing his eyes gradually widen.

"A Translation Charm?" He gaped. "That's . . ."

"Impossible? Extraordinary? Genius?" I finished for him dryly. "Well, I have to finish it first, so hold your applause."

Slowly, his shock wore off. "You know, the involvement of the brain isn't such a big deal. Compare it to spells like the Memory Charm or the Confundus Charm. I'm sure you've used those before."

He had a point. Without warning, I shot out of my seat and began hunting for books on the theory of those spells. When I returned to the table with yet another stack of books, he laughed. I ignored him, my excitement pumping adrenaline through my veins. I was on the verge of a serious breakthrough.

"I don't get a 'thank you'?" He flashed me a wolfish smile. It actually made him look . . . nicer. To say the least.

"_Merci. Gracias. Grazie.__ X__ièxie. Arigatou gozaimasu._" I smiled sarcastically back at him. "Did I miss anything?"

"Yes." He leaned forward. "English."

I rolled my eyes. "Thank you."

"Much better," he said condescendingly, his smile shifting effortlessly into his signature smirk. Practice makes perfect, I supposed.

Finally, he left me alone to my work, flipping through one of the books I'd set on the table. Meanwhile, I worked on the incantation of the spell. In front of me were several books on Latin. I needed not only the right meaning but the right connotation; all of my Spell Development books stressed that repeatedly because it was necessary in order to properly channel one's intent. As Bellatrix Lestrange once pointed out to Harry, intent is everything.

"Language" was _lingua_ . . . Plural, it was _linguae_ . . . How would I say "all languages"? Well, "all" could be _omni_ . . . Together, _omnilinguae?_ Now "translate all languages" . . .

I had it.

"Malfoy, quick — say something in another language!" I whispered excitedly.

He mulled over it for a second and then grinned widely as he asked, "_Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?_"

Did he just . . . ?

"Something I can't understand and hex you for, nitwit!" I hissed.

But he just chuckled and said, "_Li__ă__ng zh__ī__ l__ăo hŭ păo de kuài._"

"_Omnilinguae Translatum,_"I whispered, tapping my forehead with my wand. "Now say it again."

"Two tigers run fast."

"Again."

He stared at me. "You know Mandarin Chinese?"

"What?"

"You just answered me in Chinese."

Sweet Merlin.

"_Finite_." Tap. "Say the sentence again."

"_Li__ă__ng zh__ī__ l__ăo hŭ păo de kuài._"

"I did it!" I leaped up from my chair, my eyes wild with elation. "I did it!"

Malfoy watched me, amused. Then he cleared his throat.

"Sorry." I beamed at him. "_We_ did it."

"And?"

I decided to indulge him. "Thank you."

He feigned disapproval. "We really must work on those manners of yours. Absolutely dreadful." Like a true diva, he inspected his nails. "My mother would never approve of your behavior."

"Right. Because she'd approve of a Muggle-born, regardless. Because I need her approval."

That earned me an exasperated look. "My point is that respect and friendship don't appear out of thin air. They're built atop of foundations like gratitude, reciprocation, kindness . . ."

"Respect? Friendship?" I echoed, eyeing him with a mix of shock and disbelief. "Are you saying . . . ?"

He made eye contact with me briefly but looked away. His words held no uncertainty, however, as he said, "I'd like to be your friend, Hermione Granger." Then a thought occurred to him, and he asked with a frown, "What's your middle name?"

"Jean. Are you serious?"

"Hermione Jean Granger." A bemused smile played on his lips as he formed the syllables of my name, and he extended his hand to me. "My name is Draco Malfoy — no middle name — and you would do me a great honor in being my friend."

It was sorely tempting. Just take his hand. Take it.

I wanted to trust him so badly.

"On a trial basis," I proposed, gripping his hand.

"Isn't that the case for all friendships?"

My eyes met his again, and for the second time, he looked away.

"I have a feeling this one will be different."

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Open any _Harry Potter _book. Read where it says, "Text copyright © 2007 by J.K. Rowling."

**NOTES:**

06.30.09 — Don't kill me.

This is my shortest chapter yet, but I didn't want to force more out of the scene when that was really all there was to it. Plus, the majority of it was dialogue, so you'll have to cut me some slack.

The Translation Charm is completely of my making. Mine. I also made up the process of creating a spell, but I figured it should be a bit more complicated than simply waving a wand and saying something in Latin (a language which, by the way, I've never studied, so it may be a bit off).

If you're wondering, Malfoy asked her in French, "Would you like to sleep with me tonight?" It's actually in a lot of popular songs too, so I thought people might recognize it. Also, the Mandarin Chinese he used is the first two lines repeated and sung to the tune of "Frère Jacques". =)

_li__ă__ng zh__ī__ l__ăo hŭ_

_li__ă__ng zh__ī__ l__ăo hŭ_

_păo de kuài_

_păo de kuài_

_. . .  
_


	7. Blood and Lives

**VII — Blood and Lives**

"Happy birthday, Hermione!"

Happy . . . what?

Rapidly, I began to make mental calculations. Sunday was the 13th. That meant . . . 14, 15, 16 . . .

Today was Saturday, 19 September. My nineteenth birthday.

"You all are the best! You know that, don't you?"

I distributed hugs all around. Harry, Ron, and Ginny had found me in the library a few minutes after Malfoy left, and they'd convinced me to take a break from academics and stop by Hagrid's for afternoon tea. I couldn't _believe_ that the Translation Charm had kept my mind so occupied for the past two days that I'd forgotten my own birthday.

Well, maybe.

"We got you a present too," said Ginny.

"Actually," Ron corrected, "we made it."

"Ron's idea," Harry added, grinning as the redhead in question blushed.

"Really?" How sweet.

"I've got it righ' here, Hermione," Hagrid said. "Kept it fer safekeepin'."

He pulled out a wrapped gift box. I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Gasp. Stare.

It was a life-sized, stuffed house elf doll, complete with black button eyes and its own set of clothing. It even wore colorful, mismatched socks and layer upon layer of hats, a tribute to Dobby that brought tears to my eyes.

"Oh, you guys . . ." I choked on my words, not able to express how I felt as I gently picked it up.

At my show of emotion, the others started asking if I was okay, trying to comfort me.

"Yes, yes," I assured them, brushing their hands away and giggling breathlessly. How silly of me to start crying over a present. "I'm feeling quite brilliant, actually. This is the greatest gift ever. Thank you all so much."

I kissed the boys and Hagrid on the cheek and gave Ginny another hug, my new doll cradled in one arm.

"Does this mean you all will support S.P.E.W.?" I asked hopefully.

"Er . . ."

"Well . . ."

"Not actively," Ginny attempted, grimacing.

"But we'll try to support _you_," Ron tacked on, nodding.

"I suppose that's a start," I joked, watching them make an effort to keep mortified expressions off their faces. "Now, tell me — how many dolls did you have to make before you ended up with this one?"

"We lost count," Harry answered monotonously, eyes misting over as he thought back on the experience.

"Ginny suggested doing it with magic," Ron elaborated, "but that turned out to be even more complicated."

She shrugged. "We did add some charms when we were finished, though. There's one to keep it from ripping and one to keep it relatively clean. I'm not sure how long it will be until they wear off, but . . ."

"I can't say thank you enough, can I?" My cheeks were starting to hurt; I'd been smiling relentlessly.

Harry remembered something else. "We also baked a cake!"

Hagrid sighed and complained, "I didn' mind bakin' it meself, but this lot wanted ter instead." For good reason, I was sure.

As he went to fetch the cake, I gasped dramatically, "I can't believe it. Is there anything you haven't thought of to make this completely perfect?"

They played along, debating back and forth among themselves.

"You know, she'd always wanted to get Crookshanks a female friend."

"We could've given her a hundred Galleons."

"Don't be silly, Harry. She'd much rather have a new wardrobe."

"She actually told me the other week that she needed glasses."

"I still think we should have compiled a library full of all her favorite books."

I burst into laughter. "All right, all right, enough already! You're all too good for me. I don't deserve you."

"You hear that, Ron? We're too good for her." Harry nudged him teasingly. "We should mention that the next time she starts griping about homework and studies. Oh, and too much Quidditch."

I glared halfheartedly. "You know what I mean, you prat." Still, I couldn't help but smile wryly.

Hagrid came back with the cake. The frosting and icing were in Gryffindor colors with big, red, loopy letters spelling out the words _Happy Birthday Hermione_. The single candle on the top was in the shape of a lion head that Ginny charmed to roar. Reminded of Luna's Gryffindor Quidditch hat, I wondered absentmindedly if it was the same spell.

They began to sing. Ginny had a lovely alto voice, Hagrid had a resonant bass tone, and even Harry sounded decent. Ron, as darling as he was, sang slightly off-key, but like always, he made me smile.

Finally, I was told to blow out the candle.

What to wish for? There was nothing else I really wanted that would be possible to have. Except . . .

As I extinguished the small flame, I made eye contact with Ron, and I wished to fall in love.

* * *

"Are you coming or not?"

I looked at them helplessly, horribly tempted to follow.

"Is it completely necessary?"

"'Mione," Ron pleaded, "it's your birthday."

"Besides," said Ginny convincingly, "you really should thank Winky and Kreacher for helping with the cake. We couldn't have done it without them."

"Come on, Hermione. Please?"

I stared at them, unable to pull my gaze away. One pair each of blue, green, and brown stared mercilessly back at me, those big, sad eyes . . .

"Fine!" I barked, capitulating. "Fine! All right!" I climbed through the portrait hole and then called over my shoulder, "Are you coming or not?"

It was quickly approaching midnight, and they had decided that the best way to finish off my birthday was with another kitchen escapade. Far be it for me to tell them otherwise. Nevertheless, getting caught after curfew was somewhere near the bottom on my list of priorities, so I cast Disillusionment Charms on each of us.

"Master Harry," croaked Kreacher as we entered and removed the charms. "How can Kreacher be of service?"

"Some pies would be nice," Ron piped up. I turned to glare at him. "What?" he cried defensively. "Dinner was hours ago!"

"Of course, sir. Right away, sir," chorused a group of house elves. They scrambled around in a surprisingly organized fashion and set trays of food and tea before us, all with smiles, bows, curtsies . . . and no pay or vacation time. Bless their hearts.

"Did Miss 'Mione like her birthday cake?" Winky asked sweetly.

"Miss 'Mione _loved_ her birthday cake," I answered just as nicely and with a sunny smile on my face. Their perpetual good mood was infectious. So what if I'd initially been dragged against my will? And maybe this visit was against the rules, but what else was new?

"Very good, miss," said Kreacher with yet another bow. "Master desired everything to be perfect for such an occasion."

"It was," I assured him. I drew both elves into a quick hug before they could say otherwise. "Many thanks to both of you for helping them. I'm sure they were utterly hopeless bakers."

"Excuse me?" Ginny feigned indignation, putting her hands on her hips. "I'll have you know that both Harry and I have prior experience in the kitchen. Ron, on the other hand . . ."

Everyone turned to watch him stuff his mouth full of more sweets. He froze and had the grace to return a sheepish look. Disgusting and adorable at the same time. How did he manage it?

"Well, Ron plays more of a consumer role in the kitchens," Ginny finished, in case someone hadn't gotten the point.

"Yes," agreed Winky, but her great brown eyes darted back and forth, and she fidgeted slightly.

"Winky, what's wrong?" I asked, genuinely concerned. She avoided the question with some of her own, directed at the others.

Quickly, I scanned the room for any differences since the last time we'd visited — so long ago. At various corners of the room, I found containers of common cooking utensils: wooden spoons, spatulas, ladles, whisks, knives . . . A memory of rampaging house elves wielding cleavers popped into my head. With this sudden thought, I began counting the house elves. The total was probably half of what it had been years before.

Finally, I examined each individual elf. I berated myself for not noticing the tired, weary sagging of their shoulders, the sleepless, redness of their eyes, and the sickly, white pallor of their complexions. Beneath the happy façade, it was nearly imperceptible, but for me, that was no excuse.

"Winky," I asked again, more firmly this time, "what's wrong?"

"Miss 'Mione, you mustn't worry," she replied, her smile frozen upon her face.

"How many house elves did you lose in May? How long have you been understaffed?" I cried, restraining myself from picking her up and shaking her. "Tell me!"

The quality of their work had not lessened; rooms were still constantly cleaned, every meal was scrumptious, and the Welcoming Feast had been equally as grand as those of previous years. Yet, this was accomplished with half as many workers. The strain it must have caused on such small, fragile creatures . . .

Winky burst into tears, breaking down from my persistent questioning and being overworked.

"Please excuse Winky, miss," Kreacher stepped in. "It is true that house elves lost many to the Death Eaters, but they died with pride and dignity. We remaining must carry as much pride and dignity in our work as they did in their deaths. It is the only way to truly honor them."

"That's not right," Ron said softly. "You shouldn't have to work twice as much to uphold their memories — not if it costs you sleep and energy."

"They paid with blood and lives. We shall pay with sleep and sweat."

"No," I said determinedly. "We'll talk to McGonagall. We'll find more people to help you."

Despite their avid protests, I was steadfast in my decision. There was no way I was going to let their working conditions remain the same.

* * *

Ah, my favorite class. Arithmancy. The best way to start a Monday morning.

"This is called a coordinate plane," Professor Vector instructed, "also known as the Cartesian coordinate system. It's rather ingenious actually. Muggle mathematicians use them commonly to compare relative points which are placed in accordance to these two lines, the _x_-axis and _y_-axis. Recently, the field of arithmancy has adopted its use . . ."

While she continued explaining, I absorbed the information like a sponge. The concept wasn't that difficult. In arithmancy, a number chart was used to assign three different numbers (1-9): character, heart, and social. The character number was the overall personality, the heart number was the inner self, and the social number was the persona.

In this particular method, the character number was the slope of the line, and the heart and social numbers were the _x_- and _y_- values, respectively, of one point on the line. Our in-class assignment was to construct a graph from the names of two different people and then interpret the relationship. Graphing a third person offered extra credit points, so of course I was going to do it.

I thought for a moment. I would graph myself, obviously. Habit made me choose Ron and Harry as well.

First, the numbers. I already knew my character, heart, and social numbers: 7, 9, and 4. After consulting my number chart and doing some quick addition, I deduced that Ron's numbers were 6, 4, and 5, and Harry's were 2, 4, and 9. Plotting the points and drawing the lines weren't a problem; it was the interpretation that slowed me down.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a hand raise into the air. Malfoy. I hadn't heard the question he'd asked, but curiosity drove me to add a fourth line.

Malfoy's numbers were 7, 3, and 8. My line and his shared the same slope, so they never intersected. Did that mean we had no connection whatsoever? Contradictorily, a basic law of arithmancy states that words and names with the same character number go together. It made no sense.

Class ended, and Professor Vector advised us to read the chapter on vertical asymptotes in our textbooks.

I approached her desk with my graph and proceeded to ask her about the meaning of parallel lines.

"This is very interesting, Miss Granger."

_Interesting._ What an ambiguous word.

"Now, these two lines go in exactly the same direction but with some distance apart. It could mean any number of things, but mostly, I believe it symbolizes a similar path that one must take alone . . . It could possibly involve competition in some way, with the natures of both too much the same to function together." She smiled at me. "Arithmancy is not an exact art, however. Keep that in mind."

I thanked her distractedly and packed up my things to leave. Already I was pondering her words.

Competition sounded about right. But, too much the same? Malfoy and I?

Well, I'd still pick Arithmancy over Divination any day. I'm sure the latter would've come up with some mimblewimble like Malfoy and I getting married.

Ugh. And I used to think _Lavender_ was gag-worthy. What a laugh.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Les personnages d'_Harry Potter_, je ne les ai pas fait. (Not sure if I got that right. Any Frenchies out there?)

**NOTES:**

07.04.09 — For those of you Americans, Happy Independence Day . . . regardless of the joke it's become. =P

Hopefully all of you have taken pre-algebra at some point; otherwise, the Arithmancy lesson (which was a snippet!) was probably confusing.

This is a really cool (unofficial) link I found about arithmancy:

h t t p : / / w w w . s o r c e r e r s c o m p a n i o n . n e t / a r i t h m a n c y . h t m l

I wasn't sure what the subject was exactly, but it was the closest thing to a math class at Hogwarts I could find without making one up, and math is the origin of the story's title (in case anyone thought differently, which is completely understandable considering how vague it is). Also, I made up the characters' numbers to correspond with what I felt were their actual personalities. They are not really the results of arithmancy.

I also mean no offense to DM/HG shippers, although I have read a few stories with a marriage prophecy about them. If you visit my profile, you'll see I have the potential to enjoy any and all ships. DM/HG is actually a really fun one, but it's not the direction this fic will end up in, as much as you will continue to doubt that throughout the story.

Review!


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